A Royal Divergence
by Million-Dollar-Houses
Summary: The only daughter of Titus Mede II leaves the Imperial Palace in search of a new life in Skyrim, but gets more than she ever bargained for. The province is upon a civil war, new feuds arise between old enemies, and she's right in the center of it all. Rated M for language and strong adult themes.
1. Prologue

**4E 230**

The Harbinger of the Companions sat within his plain study. Little embellishments and trinkets he had collected over the years were here and there, giving it a homey atmosphere, like a comfortable afternoon by a lake or a winter's night wrapped up in a quilt with the one you love. He would shove his books every which way into his shelf until the maid (he couldn't ever remember her name, Gods bless her) took it upon herself to reorder them.

His desk was scattered with quills and parchment and emptied ink bottles. They were mostly expense sheets, inventory reports, requisitions: the mental toils that came along with being the conductor of all the madness. Beneath the blanket of notes were a tiny cache of things no one would ever dare disturb.

Each of the tomes had her face engraved upon the frontispiece, immortalizing Isabella Veronique Mede: Empress of Tamriel. The tower of books peered out from underneath his new life wearily, reminding him of times long gone with the wind. He had read every story about his Empress- his wife- under the sun, and while everyone had a sliver of the truth deep within rumor and conjecture, none of them could ever know the story like he did. Calloused fingers caressed the image's cheek, a sad smile adorning his face. They never could get her lips shaped just right, and her eyes didn't contain the same fire- the same passion- as he had seen in her shiny blue orbs.

A rapping at his bedchamber door caused him to cock a curious ear towards the source, twisting around in his wooden desk chair to get a better look. A thick-built Redguard woman stood timidly in the doorway, a quill and ink-bottle in one hand and a pad of parchment in the other. She smiled sweetly, the gesture lighting up her face, her brown eyes soft and comforting. She wore her hair like Bella used to; freely falling down her back in brilliant tresses. He saw a part of her in everyone, in everything he saw.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I? Because if so I can just come another time…"

"No," He murmured, brushing his graying hair away from his face. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"That depends," She said, in her Hammerfell twang. "You're Vilkas, son of Jergen? Harbinger of the Companions?"

"Aye. I am."

"You were… betrothed to Empress Isabella?"

His eyes grew as his brow shot into his hairline. A sudden cold spell fell over him, light cracking in his vision as he turned and slouched back into his chair once again, staring at the tome as a driven, determined Bella with empty eyes and misshapen lips stared back.

"Aye. A long time ago." She barely heard him answer. "Who told you this?"

"Your friend." She answered sensitively. "The hooded elf."

He let out a raspy, hollow chuckle. Even as time and age caught up him, Farkas, and Aela, Eva remained the same woman she was thirty years ago when they had met. Physically and mentally. "You need to let the world hear your story, oh grouchy one. No one knew the Dragonborn like you did." She'd purr with the most crude wink of her eye. "I'm tired of reading flowery fun facts about the woman who changed our lives. You should be too."

"Of course she did." He mumbled with mirth.

"You're not angry?"

"Did she tell you I'd explode and steam would start trailing from my ears as well?"

"She said something along those lines."

Another hollow laugh left his lips as he took a moment to collect himself.

"In any event," She giggled. "I have a few questions to ask you, Harbinger."

"Please, call me Vilkas."

She nodded curtly in acknowledgment

"Well," He began, feebly lifting himself from his chair. The years had not been easy on him in any form or fashion, and it was beginning to show. "Care for a tour of Jorrvaskr, home of the honorable and all mighty Companions?"

His expression was animated as she nodded her head enthusiastically. They stepped in time with one another as they ambled down the hall of the living quarters, the young woman eyeing each weapon placed upon the wall with intense interest. They came to a brief halt before two ebony swords, glistening threateningly in the candle light.

"These were hers." He forced out through tight lips and watering eyes. "She was a talented duel-wielding swordsman; deadly in battle."

He glanced over to the woman at his side, still engrossed by the honed black swords before her.

"You never did tell me your name."

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry." She rambled nervously. "By the Gods, where are my manners? My name is Rayya Christophe. I'm a writer interested on doing an in depth story on the Dragonborn Empress."

"Tell me, Rayya," Vilkas began, his voice trailed off as he stared out at the only thing of Bella's he had left. "What all do you know of Bella?"

"She was shrouded in secrecy for the earlier years of her life. No one seems to know why, but many historians believed that her father, Titus Mede II, feared that after his passing, the Aldmeri Dominion would destroy his children and recapture the Imperial City. When she was in her mid to late twenties, she ran from the Palace under the alias 'Arriana Allemand', and then joined the Companions. That was, obviously, when you and she met. Give or take a few more general facts, and I know just about as much as any biography written about her."

"And you haven't even scratched the surface." Vilkas murmured, a storm of nostalgia falling down over his mind like rain, soaking his every memory in a bittersweet, throbbing pain. He hadn't allowed himself to think of those days in quite a time. "I haven't even any idea where to start."

"Start from the beginning." She encouraged sweetly, a soft hand resting on his broad shoulder.

He took a deep breath, sorting out every memory, touch, and moment he had dedicated to the only love he had ever known.

* * *

**thank you all for bearing with me while I get my shit together! **

**For anyone who might be confused, this story used to be named Royalty Raised into the Companions, before I rewrote it. **

**Please review and let me know what you think! **

***** i also have no clue why the link in the email is messed up? I'm so sorry for the inconvenience **


	2. Cities Under the Sea

Beams of sunlight pelt down like arrows, pleasantly stinging where they aim. The spring draught flits in on the slick stalks of grass, faintly kissing the columns of trees and the bulky, fortitudinous rocks protruding roughly from the earth. It croons as it twirls and twists, the breath of the Gods ghosting through the leaves.

Aradan has always seen the sky as just another ocean. The air tastes like salt as he observes the harbor, ship bells crying their farewells and wooden docks crepitating in a saddened reply. He wonders about cities under the sea, and that maybe somewhere down below, there's a man doing the same thing as he.

The seasons are never the same, and he supposes that there's good enough reason to think that life is interchangeable in that way.

He lies on his back in the soft meadow, studying the way Isabella looks perched upon his like a deadly bird of prey. She is caged, and it pains his heart to think of it. He doesn't want to _think_; he wants only to _be_. They are bound with tiny threads of words in whispers.

"What earth-shattering affair are you pondering upon now?" Her quip is good in nature, and the sweet music clears his mind and fills it to the brim with only her.

"You."

"Flatterer."

A smile washes over her lips, only to retreat as she glances wearily over her shoulder to the white palace looming behind, watching like a warden.

"Isabella…" He breathed, a soothing effect to his baritone. "The day is still young."

"Sure, but before you know it, night will be upon us and I'll… I don't want to go back so soon. There's never enough time."

"I know."

When they were together—and the opportunities were scarce—he did not think of how their time would reach it's end. A passionate graze of lips and an offer of remorse from big blue eyes. It was a song he knew better than he liked. He profusely denied a haggard truth: his place was not in Cyrodiil, and when the time came to follow the roads home, he would do so singly.

He was suddenly fifteen again, ministering to the life of the palace gardens as many Bosmer do. A girl nearly the same age as he with raven hair, big blue eyes, generously full lips and porcelain skin bobs through the newly awakened blossoms, daises braided into brilliant tresses. She sings the same as the winds do, and the city under the sea seems to awaken around him at the sonance.

His mother takes notice and warns that his own heart will be his greatest betrayer, but the pinky promises in the dark of night and little kisses under oaks wise with age seemed something worth pursuing.

Now he's nineteen, slinging pebbles at the palace casements like a madman. Bella unfastens the window and slithers down from her marble balcony overlooking a spacious courtyard. He can hardly see her in the sparse moonlight but his senses drown in lavender, and for the moment, it is more than sufficient. His fingers are wringing the neck of a maroon glass bottle, the contents sloshing sloppily inside. After she greedily swigs four or five sizable gulps, she nearly doubles over, shaking her head with eyes clamped shut and asking incredulously where he acquired the alcohol of redoubtable taste. He only chortles in rebuttal, the sound captivated in every aspect, downing a shot himself. It hurts going down, but leaves a pleasing afterglow.

Aradan tells her he loves her as his arms swallow her naked form completely, exhausted after their love-making. A deluge of black silk fans out over silk pillows, and he breaths it all in. Day breaks over the Empire, and it is all truly over.

Maybe an infinitesimal sliver of himself always knew he'd wash his hands of her in anguish; in the utter subjugation of their insides. It was all plain talk long deferred.

"Aradan, you're not being reasonable!" They're older now, and she's dreadfully tearful; a sight he swears will haunt him forever.

"I don't need to be fucking reasonable. I've given you years to make up your mind. I need an answer now. My caravan departs for Skyrim at daybreak."

He doesn't mean to sound so distant and passionless. This was all just plain talk long deferred.

"Will you be joining me or...?"

"I can't just drop everything here and leave with you, love. Even thought I want to…. I want to so badly." Antagonized tears burn her eyes as she pushes back her ebon locks, her lips quivering as a deep sigh escapes them. "You knew what you were getting into. You knew what all the sneaking around at night and secrecy meant. You've had to know it would have come to this. Do not be cross with me for the things I cannot control."

"Of course I knew."

His ireful stare burns through her red satin dress and straight into her core, making the sea of liquid behind her eyes even harder to retain. He tries not to notice the torment upon her soft features that he inflicted himself. She is a martyr to his cruelty purely out of love, and it sickens him.

"After all these years…" Aradan hisses, his green eyes ablaze. "How can you just let me walk away like this?"

"_Me_?" She cries incredulously. "What in Oblivion do you expect _me_ to do?"

"Gods-damn it." He growls, holding his head in his hands. "Bella… this doesn't have to be hard."

"But it can't be easy. Do you honestly think there won't be any ramifications that'll follow me around if I leave Cyrodiil? The world isn't going to just stop for us, Aradan. Maybe you can't see it now, but there are bigger things in this world than love."

"Right. Sometimes I forget you're so damned important."

"I _am_ damned important." She roars acerbically. "I'm the princess of The Imperial Empire. One day, I'll be your gods-damned Empress. I believe that's the crystal clear definition of important."

"You say those words like they mean something to you. They mean nothing but fear."

"I beg your pardon?" Bella snarls, her eyes watery and piqued.

"You're scared to assume control of anything. That's why you won't take advantage of this opportunity and run." He replies turbulently. "And when the time comes for you to actually live up to the responsibilities of an Empress, you'll run from that too."

His words only ring wrathfully and hang tauntingly in the air around them.

"I love you, Aradan. But you're going somewhere I can't go." She finally whimpers, allowing a single tear to break off from the sea of sorrow within her blue irises and trail down her cheek.

"If you've ever wanted to start over- a second chance away from all of this- this is it! You can just come with me, and they'll never find us. Dammit, Bella, dammit." He swears, his tone throbbing with unwarranted anger. "Don't make me leave you behind."

"No. I can't, Aradan. I-"

He cuts her off with a rough kiss, so intense it nearly hurt, tightly tangling his fingers in her sable thatch of hair. He would never allow himself to forget the girl he would have married had they met in another day and age, where he was not a mere commoner tending to the royal gardens and she was not royalty.

"We are alive, right now." He murmurs into her ear as he held her close, the warmth of her skin comforting, if only for the moment. She only sighs softly in reply. "And I will love you until we are not."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

"I cannot regret you, Isabella." He breathed this quietly, more to himself than her, and sealed it with a kiss upon her lips one last time.

In that moment and at the same time, they both doubt his words are genuine.

* * *

**thank you for all your reviews! I am very interested to hear what you have to say and I am always open for constructive criticism.**

**Just to clear something up, I'm not changing the bulk of the story. I am only adding in a few things to help it flow better and make a hell of a lot more sense! :)**


	3. Abdication

**4E 201**

_Father, _  
_ I find the paths our Gods put us on strange at times. Sometimes I take comfort in the fact that they've got our lives figured out for us, and sometimes I just wish they'd get their shit together._  
_ I have many questions and many answers, but I can't seem to make them match up. I think that's why people are so bitter: the answers are there for you to know, and the questions to ask, but timing… somewhere, the timing is always off. I know things now that I wish I'd known then, and I knew things then that I wish I had remembered up until now. I am troubled by the emptiness this creates._  
_ I've always wanted to do the right thing, but our lives are not right or wrong; black and white. There's so much middle ground… gray area. Maybe the best thing to do, is to do right by ourselves. _  
_ My spirit is on tenterhooks and desires for a chance to become something great. I don't exactly know what I'm trying to say or what I expect you to say in reply. This place is suffocating me. _  
_ Bizzare, right? I have a life of wealth and I chose to run with the bare necessities and the clothes on my back. I'm certain I can take care of myself out there in the world. All jokes aside, you will hold a special part in my soul until the sands of time run out. I love you._

_ -Bella_

Her conscience darkly taunted her as she placed the parchment holding her last words to her father dried in ink upon her vanity. Her saddened blue eyes yet glittered with a sense of hopefulness, and with a poignant sigh, she pulled the hood to her dark cloak over her head of jet-black hair, causing a shadow to ominously conceal her facial features. She could almost hear Aradan inside her head, telling her how she was such an idiot all those years ago, and how he was right and that she owed him a drink.

"So maybe you were right about me." She breathed to no one.

With a last glance around her luxurious quarters, her eyes sifting through its contents in search of anything important she may have forgotten, she patted the hilts of her honed Imperial swords that hung at her sides, and tossed her knapsack over her shoulder as she fumbled with the rusted lock on her window, just as she used to. She stealthily crept down the vines and the stones and navigated her way through the gardens the way Aradan had shown her, keeping her concealed just enough to sneak past the guards unnoticed. Her better judgement screamed and kicked in protest only to be ignored.

Her hand graced over the flesh of her chest in search of the amulet that had been gifted to her by her father. The feel of it beneath her fingers caused an intense twinge of guilt to bolt through her heart.

_"My lovely daughter, I am so very pleased to see that you were able to fit our meeting into your agenda." He spared a passing glance at the grandfather clock positioned at the northern end of the room. "You were nearly late, I see!"_

_A mischievous, sarcastic grin overtook her lips, and she twirled a lock of long, black hair around her delicate fingers._

_"I may have had a previous engagement…" _

_With a vibrant smile plastered across his face, he shook his head as he ambled over to where she stood, and wrapped her in a hug so tight she feared his arms might swallow her tiny figure whole._

_"Sleeping until noon doesn't count, love."_

_Comfortable laughter broke out between the two._

_"Ah, but no matter. I love you so dearly, little one."_

_She smiled into the warmth of his neck as he placed a single kiss on the top of her head before releasing her. With one hand gripped firmly on her shoulder, he reached into his breast pocket with the other and concealed a tiny object in his hand. _

_"Hold out your hands, Bella. I have a special gift for you." _

_She diligently obeyed. With a zealous smile, he delicately placed what looked to be an amulet in the fleshy palms of her hands. Her mouth fell into a dazzled "O" as she gently trifled with the amulet. It was the Imperial dragon emblem carved artistically out of ebony ore, black as the night that fell over Cyrodiil. Light gracefully glinted off of it as she dandled it through her slim fingers._

_"It once belonged to your mother, and now, I suppose it's high time for it to be passed down to you." _

_"Father, I… I haven't the slightest idea of what to say. It's… it's magnificent." She sputtered whilst glancing in turn between her father's loving gaze and the talisman nestled in her palm. He simply swiped the charm from her open hands and latched it gently around her neck. It rested snugly against her sternum, and the Emperor felt nostalgic tears form in the corners of his honey coloured eyes. Bella had grown to look so much like her mother…_

_"You're so beautiful, my beloved daughter. Your mother would be so proud of the young woman you've become."_

Bella's conscience goaded again as she kept her head down inconspicuously and pushed onward through the Talos Plaza and to the Chestnut Handy Stables seated just outside the city walls. It had taken various purses bursting at the seams with septims and one or two grandiloquent words just to secure a horse from the waspish Orc who held ownership of the stables. Though seemingly reluctant at their last meeting, the Orc woman had a comely steed as white as the snowfall that lay sonorously upon the Jerall Mountains tethered to a post, waiting just for Bella.

With a roguish grin, she briskly mounted herself upon the horse and gripped the reigns firmly as she nudged it with the heel of her boot. The stallion nickered and started off down the cobblestone trail and towards the bridge that stood poised over Lake Rumare. The moonlight was glittering off the murky water, and the open night sky above her was painted with shades of burgundy and navy blue, with twinkling little stars forming a cloak of sparse light over Nirn. As the frigid night air nipped at her nose and whipped wildly around her face, she became utterly overwhelmed with a foreign, alien sentiment: liberation. She rode north along The Red Ring Road, and left the trials of the city far behind her, and with it her identity as Bella Véronique Mede: future Empress of the Empire. She did not even spare a goodbye glance.

* * *

Her journey was spent riding along The Silver Road, a stone trail winding throughout the rolling hills of the Heartlands, savoring the cool wind colliding with her body in delicate gusts, and the way pure freedom tasted to her longing soul. Collectively, the trip half way across Cyrodiil took no more than three days, including the multiple stops she took only to rest her head at a makeshift camp along the roads during the night. She feared her father already had half of the Legion hunting her down, so staying low and eluding contact with others on her way up through the mountains to the border was a top priority.

She hadn't lingered long on what she could go by in her new life, and she released an irritated sigh at her lack of preparation.

Maybe Arriana Allemand, an aspiring young Imperial woman from a quaint, olde worlde horse ranch just outside of Cheydinhal, surrounded by the lush, rolling plains of the Heartlands of Cyrodiil? It sounded believable enough to her, and it seemed best to keep it simple. Less room to muck up the details, she supposed.

She mouthed the named several times before forcing the words straight out of her lungs.

"Arriana Allemand…" It sounded uncomfortably foreign and unfamiliar to her ears as it rolled off her tongue in her accent.

She circumspectly skimmed over the many number of details in her mind as her steed whinnied and trotted skittishly down a barely visible, snowed-over path within the mountains. Her breath escaped her lips in small puffs of fog, and she noted that obviously, the climate and environment in Skyrim was a bit more unforgiving and harsh than in Cyrodiil. She trembled vigorously as goose-bumps arose on her smooth skin, and her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

The mountains were breathtaking, and seemed to reach up into the heavens and caress the sky that emitted tiny snowflakes, dancing gracefully to the ground. The wintry air whispered in her ears and pirouetted around her frangible figure, and after several hours of enduring the frosty gales and snow, she released a sigh of pure relief as a small settlement, surrounded by a great pine forest, became visible as she approached.  
However, her moment of bliss was short lived, for the commotion of red and blue coloured armour twirling around in a death-dealing waltz of sorts and the sound of shouting and blades colliding into one another caused her breath to catch and her eyes to widen.

There were Imperial Legion Soldiers everywhere––too many to count on both hands––and two were curiously eyeing her and shuffling over her way. Panic began to spread quickly throughout her mind, and she could feel herself begin to shake out of pure fear.

"She doesn't appear to be wearing Stormcloak armour, or any armour to be exact. You sure she's a threat? Maybe we should leave the poor lassie be." One of the men spoke in gruff accent, with hints of flowery Imperial speech bleeding into his words as he spoke. The other man simply replied with a jerk of his chin upwards, motioning for Bella to dismount from her steed. Her muscles ceased to clench with fear and her mind slowly became more comfortable with the circumstances, although she still wasn't completely at ease.

"Get off the horse, ma'am. I don't intend on taking chances. The Emperor made his orders clear and I am not about risk fucking anything up. For all we know, she could be a spy or somethin'."

Bella had to make an effort to keep from tensely cackling at the bizarre situation.

"My apologies. I am but a visitor to these lands. I'm afraid I haven't any idea of what is going on!" Her voice shook with trepidation, and she hoped the woe in her ornate speech was convincing. The hostile soldier's face twisted into beleaguered expression as he approached her with an intimidating sneer upon his lips. Her stomach did nervous flips as his eyes seemed to burn into her soul.

"You heard me, Imperial!"

"Sir, I-I believe you're making a mist-"

"Come on, just let her go! She's lightly armed, and you know as well as I do that if she turned on us, we could easily cut her down!" The other benign soldier's voice was riddled with distress, and his green eyes looked into Bella's apologetically.

"I said: off the horse!" The irate Imperial solider reached up towards her and gripped her firmly around the arm, yanking her off the saddle. A stupefied cry broke free from her throat as she plummeted from the ground, the impact nearly ripping the breath from within her chest. A sharp, throbbing pain resonated from her temples, and the last thing she recalled before passing out cold was the feel of their hands tightly wrapped around her arms, dragging her off towards a wagon.

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**big thanks to Lady of Dov for their helpful reviews! Much appreciated :)**

**I'm uploading this because I will not be able to upload anything else for a week or two.  
**

**Thanks again for reading!**


	4. the Fall of Helgen

**4E 201, 17th of Last Seed**

A algid breeze chilled her flesh as the reverberation of a wagon creaking and horses clopping down a cobblestone path echoed through her ears. Her head was throbbing, and her throat was coarse and dry, as if it had been eras since it had been introduced to water. Reluctantly, she forced her blue eyes open, her irises abruptly bombarded by the sight of a blonde, handsome Nordic man, intently watching her with sharp, green eyes. His face was riddled with an unreadable expression, and she shifted her head to get a better look around. It seemed she and the mystery man were not alone. Another Nord with dark hair and a face not as pleasing to the eye, sat opposite to her, and was frantically trying to break free from the bindings fastened tightly around his wrists whilst feverishly muttering some rubbish about horses and the Divines. Beside her, seated on the uncomfortable wooden bench was a brawny, flaxen haired man with a thick, white cloth tied securely across his lips. Her head began to spin as her mind tried to process the events that had unfolded before her all at once. She attempted to bring her hands up to her temples to gently massage them, however she too had rough, intolerable rope securely tied around her slim wrists. The man in front of her was amused by the release of her irate scoff, and he flaunted a warm smile in her direction.

"So you're finally awake, eh? You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into the Imperial ambush? Same as us, and that thief over there." He jerked his head over to the Nord beside him, still in a tizzy over the hawser constricted around his wrists. The man cringed and squinted his eyes threateningly in turn between the two blonde men.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Everything was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy."

Bella arched a delicate eyebrow in his direction.

"If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell…"

His sharp gaze fixed upon her face, and glared deep into her ocean irises.

"You there! You and me… we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Her expression twisted into one of confusion as she furrowed her brow. What of these 'Stormcloaks'? Twenty-six years of listening to nothing but the mindless rabble talk Thalmor politics, and somehow something this momentous had failed to be mentioned? Her findings did nothing to aid the already ponderous weight upon her mind.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, horse thief." The Stormcloak retorted cooly as the dark haired Nord narrowed a sharp glower in his direction.

"Shut up back there!" An Imperial Solider shouted with a beleaguered resonance to his tone as he tossed a sullied look over his shoulder. The man directly across from Bella simply rolled his eyes bitterly and shifted his gaze back upon her face.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" The horse thief mused towards the burly man seated next to her as he adjusted himself in his seat uncomfortably.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak: the true High King." The solider had taken great offense to the thief's mindless comment, and he spat the words out as if they burned the inside of his mouth.

All the color left the thief's face as he fidgeted around on the bench nervously, trying desperately to rip the cord off from around his wrists. His struggling only cause angry blisters to arise from his flesh.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But if they've captured you…. Oh Gods, where are they taking us?"

He yanked at the bindings even harder whilst nearly leaping out the side of the carriage.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." The Stormcloak solider muttered solemnly as his stare wandered off mindlessly into the snowy landscape surrounding them, silently accepting the harsh fate he had been dealt with honor.

"No! This can't be happening! This isn't happening!" The thief continued to wildly flail his wrists around, causing the blisters to tear and bleed down his arm in delicate trails of crimson liquid.

The Stormcloak, still upholding his calm composure, simply turned to the panic-stricken thief and flashed a halfhearted grin.

"What village are you from, horse thief?"

The thief cocked a brow quizzically at the solider as his panicking slowly came to a halt.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." Nostalgia glittered through the soldier's keen verdigris eyes as the thief released a long, drawn out sigh and slumped back in his seat.

"Rorikstead…" He said in a whisper that could barely be heard over the creaking of the carriage. "I'm from Rorikstead…"

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" An Imperial soldier shouted out across the morn over Skyrim as they approached another moderately sized settlement.

General Tullius? That was a name she hadn't heard in several courses of the seasons. Though they had never been properly introduced, however she could remember him quite clearly; prancing around the Palace like the egocentric, patronizing oaf he is. Bella took a complacent comfort in the fact that he was favored by her father only for his prowess in battle, and his natural leadership skills, but absolutely nothing more.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines! Please, help me!" The thief, forced back into another one of his hysterical hissy fits, cried out helplessly to the sky, searching some kind of response.

The Stormcloak man scoffed with disgust.

"Look at him! General Tullius, the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him too."

Him purely mentioning the name of the wretched elves cause Bella's blood to run cold and her heart to start throwing a full out temper tantrum within her chest as she frantically swallowed down the small lump of pure dread that clogged her throat.

"Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this!" He snarled as she shifted upon the bench nervously.

They rode throughout the tiny village in silence, simply taking in the grim reality of the circumstances. Bella's thoughts raced as she glanced around at the quaint houses, and eyed the curious onlookers who sharply watched the incoming band of prisoners.

"This is Helgen…" The Stormcloak soldier awkwardly broke the silence as his green eyes skimmed throughout the community. His tone became comfortably conversational.

"I used to be sweet on a girl from her." He said, his voice filled with a smile. "I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." His eyes became unfocused as his voice wandered off.

A deafening quietude fell upon them again as the carriage drew them closer to their inevitable demise. Bella's heart was ripped to shreds by fear, pain, and disappointment. All she had ever known in her short life were the overbearing walls of a Palace.

The wagons soon came to a sudden halt, and Imperial soldiers began directing them off the carriages, one by one, like a farmer herding cattle.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."  
If there was any terror within the Stormcloak soldier's mind, he definitely wasn't showing it.

You can't run from who you are without consequences. You knew it the moment you escaped. Her inner self was jeering at her again, insulting her very own judgment and intelligence. Bella pushed these thoughts to the very back of her mind, as she stood by the side of the Stormcloak soldier in a sea of uneasy strangers.  
They stood before an Imperial Captain whom Bella had never seen before; a stern, thick-built, brute of a woman who wore a permanent scowl upon her thin lips.

"Step towards the block when you hear your name! One at a time!"

Her male assistant was diligently skimming through a list of names, and the soldier at her side laughed without mirth.

"The Empire loves their damn lists."

Bella couldn't help but crack a lively grin at his vicious yet truthful remark.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The Captain's scribe called out to the crowd of soldiers in binds. The stocky, blonde man that had sat beside her on the carriage stepped forward to the block without fearful hesitation or uttering a single word.

"It was an honor severing with you, Jarl Ulfric."

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The solider at her side gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment and a weak, somber smile before joining his Jarl at the chopping block.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The horse thief began shouting nonsensical ramblings at the top of his lungs as he approached the scribe.

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

Before Bella could even get a grasp on what was happening, Lokir bolted forward, barely able to keep his balance after Gods know how long spent stationary on the cart.

"Halt!" The Imperial Captain called threateningly after the escapee.

"You're not going to kill me!" He hysterically shouted, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"Archers!"

Two Imperial Bowmen readied their arrows and fired off at their easy target. Without another word, Lokir took two arrows through his chest, and fell to the ground with a sickening plop.  
Bella's jaw dropped in pure horror at the inhuman occurrence. She tried to tear her eyes away from the broken man with a pair of arrows jutting out of his back, however she found it hard to even breathe in the midst of her shock.

With a smug grin occupying her lips, the Captain turned to the soldiers and the runaway heir as she folder her arms against her chest.

"Anyone else feel like running?"

Soundlessness was her only reply. Bella made sure she kept her head down low, just in case any of the Imperials were to recognize her. Being executed may have been a bleak affair, but she couldn't even begin to imagine being escorted back to the Palace after what she had done.

"Wait, you there! Step forward."

The Captain and the Scribe eyed Bella cautiously as she approached the two slowly. Her heart pounded against her chest, and she felt the air escape her lungs at an unnaturally brisk rate.

"Who are you?"

"Arriana Allemand of Cheydinhal." Her voice was gravelly, and shook as she forced the words out of her throat, hoping they sounded honest.

The Scribe took notice of her Imperial amulet as he shifted his attention to the Captain.

"What should we do, Captain? She's not on the list, and she wears an Imperial amulet. She doesn't appear to be a Stormcloak."

The Captain simply quirked a brow and gave him a harsh, scolding glare, so ruthless it made Bella want to vomit.

"I couldn't care less about what the poor wench is wearing. Forget the list, she goes to the block."

The Scribe shot Bella a quick, apologetic glance as he sighed and scribbled something down on his list.

"By your orders, Captain."

With a weary sigh and a saddened gaze, he shifted his attention to Bella once more.

"I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil." His strong, flowery Imperial accent was riddled with sorrow, and it took every ounce of strength Bella had not to break down into frantic, panic-stricken sobs where she stood. With a curt nod, she solemnly marched and took her place by Ralof's side, awaiting her apportioned end with all the dignity she had left.

Over to her left, General Tullius laughed cynically as he stood at an uncomfortable proximity to Ulfric, sneering in his face.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," His tone was menacing as he taunted the Jarl. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!"

The man in binds could only grunt in rebuttal, the angry sound muffled by the cloth tied around his mouth.

"You started this war, and plunged Skyrim into chaos! Now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!" His voice grew louder and filled with even more animalistic rage, which didn't seem to daunt Ulfric in the slightest.

In the moments of unpleasant silence following the General's outburst, a guttural, throaty cry that sounded to be not of that world broke out across the sky, echoing against the mountains. The period of wordlessness lingered in the air as baffled looks were shared between both Stormcloak and Imperial soldiers.

"What was that?" A man somewhere in the crowd finally spoke out, breaking the nervous air that had ensnared them all.

General Tullius simply scoffed in disbelief and twirled a free hand around, gesturing for the grotesque show of Imperial dominance to go on.

"It was nothing. Please, carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" The Captain chuckled darkly and turned to a redheaded Stormcloak, motioning for him to approach the block.

"Let's get this over with. I haven't got all morning." The soldier spat the words out at the Captain with a vicious grin, refusing to let the Imperial's apparent victory extinguish his strong Nordic spirit.

He slowly got to his knees, poised over the chopping block, and was forced the rest of the way down by the Imperial Captain's boot to his back. With a laugh so slight that it escaped his mouth as nothing more than a mere scoff, he turned his head to the Imperials watching him meet his end, and grinned tauntingly.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials! Can you say the same?"

As his last words left his lips and he drew his last breath, the executioner threw back the rather hefty war axe he gripped in his hands, beheading the valiant warrior with a single swing. The axe clinked as it reached the wooden block, and Bella hastily averted her face and slammed her eyes shut, so tightly that bursts of color in shades of gold and blue pirouetted throughout her vision. She did her best to steady her breathing as she heard the sound of the man's body being dragged off from the block. The surrounding townsfolk shouted angered strings of words that were non-comprehensible to Bella in her shock. Her head was spinning and her legs felt like taffy, and she felt as if she might collapse out of pure trepidation.  
"As fearless in death as he was in life." Ralof sighed somberly, glowering at his feet.

"Next! The Imperial woman!" Bella's heart nearly stopped as her eyes flew open and her body tensed with terror. She felt herself begin to walk without any consent from her mind, which was screaming at her to run or turn back, or at least try to reason with the soldiers. It was never too late for her to reveal her real identity and return home to the Palace…

The same rasping cry that had resounded throughout the landscape earlier, eructed through the atmosphere again, though much louder this time around as a monstrous silhouette intruded through the bright morning.

It perched upon the tower positioned behind the headsman with a force so great, the ground trembled beneath it. The creature spread it's elephantine, coal-black wings out to their full length, and released a horrifying shriek in tongues Bella had never heard before into the heavens. In response, menacing sable clouds flooded into the empyrean, causing the mackerel sky to writhe and shift restlessly.

"What is Oblivion is that?!"

"Dragon! It's a dragon!"

Screams erupted from the frenzied crowd surrounding her, but Bella couldn't will her feet to move. She simply remained standing; frozen in terror at the mercy of the great beast. It's crimson eyes watched her intently before swooping down and landing itself next to where she stood. She scrambled away, nearly falling over her feet as she hastily turned to face the dragon. With a raspy growl that came out as an amused chuckle, the dragon adjusted his head to where it was level with Bella's eyes.

"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin. At long last we meet."

The dragon's voice was rich and guttural; otherworldly and supernatural. Bella's blue eyes, pervaded with terror, fixed up on the sanguine irises of the beast; at a complete loss for words. Her mouth became as dry as the deserts of Hammerfell as her mind inconveniently went numb. The Herculean creature grew closer, towering over the tiny, horrorstricken mortal as its bellowing laughter thundered across the land.

"You prefer silence–– unforthcoming in the presence of a god, I see? Perhaps you are not as benighted as the others of your kind."

The monstrous being eased his face down to the level of hers, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her flesh. It's cerise, serpent-like eyes went unblinking as she mustered up all the courage within her to meet his sharp glower.

"Joor… Mortal, we are more alike than you may assume, you and I. We are both favored by the gods, divine creations of Akatosh."

The prodigious serpent read the confusion within her eyes, and eased closer to Bella, snaking it's lengthy neck around her back and positioned it's snout to meet her baffled gaze again. Still stiff with dismay, she could only manage to shift her head towards the beast.

"You seem bemused at my presence, kulaas… princess. You do not know who I am, but I know of you. I am Alduin the World Eater, First Born of Akatosh. Do well to remember that, Dovahkiin, for we will meet again…

"Daughter to the Empire, you cannot hide."

And with that, Alduin outstretched his massive, sable wings and cried into the heavens as his dark figure swooped upwards, and dominated the skies as he once did long ago.

"Zu'u lost daal! Daar Lein los dii!"

I have returned. The world is mine.

"Run, Imperial, Through the gates! Don't look back!"

Ralof's frenzied tone and firm grip on her forearm abruptly shook her from her stupor as the two of them darted throughout the remnants of Helgen, a deathly maze of fallen buildings laid ablaze.  
Her mind raced wildly with delirium as she desperately attempted to sort through Alduin's words.

All Bella could recall before bolting through the city gates and into the pine forest was the putrid scent of burning flesh and the sound of houses collapsing around her. Smoke invaded her lungs, nearly choking her half to death as the screams of the townsfolk began to ring endlessly within her ears. Her only instinct was to run. Run until she could no longer detect the smell of death on the wind or hear the sounds of destruction in her head. She ran for Gods know how long before stumbling over her own feet and hurtling downwards, slamming her head against the cold, unforgiving ground. Due to the rope that still had her wrists bound together in a death grip, she could only continue to lay upon the ground, writhing about in pain, unable to lift herself back up. She could hear shuffled footsteps and voices approaching, and she did her best to stay wide awake, until her eyes became leaden and shut on their own accord.

* * *

**la la la la don't mind me **


	5. the Circle

**4E 201, 18th of Last Seed**

The Circle stood united beneath Skyforge within a cavern that was home to an ancient magic older than men or elves. The musty air surrounding them filled their lungs and smelled of ash and smoke from the forge. Ensnared in an overwrought aura, four robust warriors gazed quizzically upon their harbinger.

He was hunched against the ceremonial basin that had once inducted them into the spiritual fold of the wolf, a gift courtesy of Lord Hircine. His hands were clasped tightly together, causing the thick muscles under his milky skin to stir, and solid, silvery braids fell down around his sturdy jaw line. They each exchanged baffled looks, for their advisor did not often call them together to be joined as one within their mortal assembly, undisclosed to anyone who wasn't of their rankings.

Without even a glance back to his proteges, he allowed the soothing sent of ash to grace his nostrils before even uttering a word.

"For years, we have carried this burden."

Vilkas could almost smell the uneasiness that seemed to be radiating off Aela and Skjor. It was no mystery to anyone that the pair of them guarded their gift with great pride and honor, and took to justifying themselves whenever confronted, though they'd never dare speak out against Kodlak. At least not on Vilkas's watch. He continued to stare daggers at the two, in a silent threat to pulverize the fool who stuck his neck out before Kodlak could say what he needed to say.

"I have spent the twilight years of my life searching for a way to undo this curse that I cast upon myself in the midst of my own carelessness. The outcome of my search has yet to turn out successful, but I happened to stumble across something. This something changes everything."

Both twins arched a dark eyebrow out of curiosity and lowered in response, almost mirroring one another as Aela shifted uneasily, and placed a calloused hand against the curve of her hip. Kodlak released a weary huff as his somber gaze remained unmoving upon the cold, stone floor of the Underforge.

"The beast blood infects more than just our bodies. It has several negative implications upon our very souls."

"What?" Vilkas blurted incredulously, his silver irises almost burning through the harbinger's skin. His twin cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow, in an obvious loss for words.

For several long moments, all that could be heard were the sharp sound of the forge above moaning and creaking, crying out across Whiterun. The redheaded huntress and her burly companion swapped apprehensive glances as Vilkas's lips shriveled into a sneer at the sight. The silence was followed by the release of a distressed groan from Kodlak.

"Instead of ascending to Sovngarde, we will be forced to mindlessly chase prey with our Master in his Hunting Grounds after we pass. The blood draws us closer to Lord Hircine, and I fear an animal will not be welcomed into Shor's Hall."

Skjor let out an amused grunt. The way Kodlak referred to the blood as some sort of disease to be purged had humored him. Vilkas cleared his throat threateningly as a retort, as if the silent reprimand cut him to the quick.

Vilkas found his loyalties to be with Kodlak, for he himself often felt the dark and the light within him were at an endless war against one another. The valiant spirit of his inner warrior and the foreign intrusion of his wolfish instincts never truly stayed at peace, leaving his soul conflicted and his mind restless. But at that moment, the true weight of Kodlak's words caught him off guard, and nearly ripped the breath straight from his lungs. Never had he even thought of his lycanthropy as something that could possibly keep him from getting into Sovngarde. He had long ago accepted it as a mere ailment that he would be parting with the day his soul decamped his weak, mortal body.

"How is that a bad thing? It seems like some sort of paradise." Skjor stood wordless by his companion's side, allowing Aela to deal out arguments.

Kodlak simply swiveled around to face the huntress and exhaled noisily, his blue eyes well beyond prostrated as they carefully scanned her face. He spent several moments of deep thought before he chose the path of silence, and left her inquiries without answer.

"I shall not argue religion with you or Skjor. You believe what you will to believe, and I have no desire to change it. I only require that you return the same respect unto me."

"I'm with you, Kodlak." Vilkas spoke up, his silver eyes ablaze with fury. He felt as if they had denounced their harbinger by refusing to take his claims seriously, and his mind was clouded with mindless, animalistic rage towards Aela and Skjor, that he knew all too well was unjust and uncalled for. A tell tale sign that the wolf was dangerously close to the surface of his flesh.

"Aye, me too." Farkas had spoken forth for the first time since the meeting had been summoned.

Aela squared her shoulders, feeling tyrannized since the majority had turned against her and Skjor, allowing her piercing gaze to travel in turn between the three men, especially taking notice of Vilkas. He ground his teeth together as he furrowed his brow, and his silver irises flaunted a hardened glower. Who was she kidding? She could smell the rage pent up within him.

"You look like you have a lot to say." Aela challenged him, the wrathful expression upon his features bringing a feral grin to her lips.

"We're supposed to be a family- a Circle. We're anything but."

Whilst his angry words hung in the air around them, he stormed out of the Underforge, shoving the hefty stone door away from him with a strength far too astute to be completely human.

His silently scolded himself for displaying such a scene as he stormed away, making his way onto the porch behind to prestigious mead hall. He was so wrapped up within his own turbulent thoughts he nearly missed the sound of his name being called out across the night atmosphere.

"Vilkas! Brother, we need your help."

Upon closer inspection, he could identify two of the three figures approaching. Athis, a dark elf who had been a member of the family for several years but failed to prove himself anything other than a worthy mercenary, and Ria, the newest member of the Companions.

The third figure was of a young, fresh-faced woman with a ghastly wound on the side of her head, and her arms snaked around the two Companion's shoulders as they helped her walk, despite her verbal protests.

"I demand I be let down at once! I am able to walk on my own." She struggled against Athis, who only muttered something angry under his breath.

"For the love of Akatosh, I said let me down, damn it!"

"Fine. Get some other halfwit to help you." Athis hastily removed his arm from around her slim waist and allowed the girl to fall unceremoniously to the ground, landing straight on her ass with a girlish yelp. Ria stared apologetically upon the girl, only to be glared at by her wrathful blue eyes in return. The woman stumbled to her feet, an angry, red hue apparent upon her cheeks and her hair a tangled mess.

Vilkas allowed his eyes to wander upon the young woman, who was currently running her slim fingers through her mop of hair, taming the knots and tangles within it. She had a heart-shaped face, perfectly curved lips in rosy shades, and black hair that fell in waves like a waterfall down past her rounded breasts. She was wearing a tattered, blue dress made of silk that flattered the curvature of her form very well. He would have mistaken her for a Nord had her skin been a lighter shade of milky white, however her flesh had an alluring bronze glow to it, screaming she was of Imperial descent.

"Who's this?" He glared unmistakably at the elf, jerking his chin over towards her.

"Arriana Allemand, thank you very much!" She barked through gritted teeth, her high-flown Imperial accent angrily accentuating every word. His lips twisted into a cynical smirk as he moved closer to her, studying her carefully before speaking.

"You're a long way from Cyrodiil, Arriana…" His tone snide and derisive. "What in Oblivion are you doing here in Skyrim?"

Bella's nostrils flared as she pursed her lips and scorned.

"I'm afraid that is nothing you should be concerned about… um…"

"Vilkas." He interrupted, the annoying smirk stretching even further across his face. With a roll of her bright blue eyes, she snorted and crossed her arms compactly across her chest.

"Vilkas…" She allowed his name to roll off her tongue with a disparaging smile.

"Good. You grasp basic speech."

"Your ill-humored attitude is not required, oh dour wretch." The sound of Aela's nickname appropriately given to him caused a grin with unsettling wolfish qualities to crack his lips, although his smile died immediately when Kodlak commanded for the woman to be taken to Vilkas's quarters for the night.

"You can bunk with your brother." Kodlak quipped as he clapped Vilkas on the back. "Just like when you two where just harmless little pups."

"You're killing me, old man."

* * *

"Oh sure… Let's take the lassie to my quarters. Without my consent." Vilkas grumbled as he trailed behind his brother. Bella didn't seem to notice his hostility, for she was doe eyed and gaping at the palatial embellishments, such as the priceless battle axes and greatswords from past heros and harbingers alike that lined the walls of the living quarters.

"Cut it out, Vilkas. Man up and act like a Companion for once, would ya?" Aela hissed, eyeing the woman studiously as she stepped alongside Farkas.

"I don't see why we can't just leave her where the whelps sleep. They're the ones who found her."

"Oh? And I'm sure they'd know know how to dress a wound such as this. Sometimes I'm baffled as to how those idiots find their ass with both hands."

His chuckle followed with silence indicated she reigned victorious, and a smug grin occupied her lips as she continued along with Farkas and Bella down the corridor to Vilkas's quarters.

With a grunt that was most unladylike, Bella plopped hastily upon the bed of animal furs and hides. She looked to be in a more dire shape since earlier. Her tanned flesh was unnaturally pale, and trails of crimson liquid streamed down from a gash positioned near her temple.

"Farkas, fetch a damp rag and a few potions from Tilma. Do be quick about it." Aela barked as she perched herself on the side of Vilkas's bed opposite to the girl, and clemently brushed a few thick locks of black hair out of her face. The angry wound on the right side of her head caused a grimace to overtake Aela's lips, and a sigh to escape her lungs. Bella's breath hitched as Aela's calloused fingertips brushed over the livid abrasion, causing a searing twinge of pain to bolt throughout her temples.

"Athis said she was in binds when they found her, ya know. Just thought I'd point it out." Both women glanced over to see the churlish man slouched against his door-frame, his silver irises scrutinizing Bella harshly. Aela replied with a cross huff and a roll of her gray eyes.

"Could you at least pretend that you have some decency? Besides, even if she was a blood thirsty criminal, I highly doubt she could take all of us. There's no need to be so damn paranoid."

"I have these flimsy little arms, you see." Bella quipped, holding her arms up for Vilkas to see. "You could easy just break them over your knee if it came to that."

Aela laughed at that, an amused grin overtaking her face.

"I like this one. She's got fire."

"I'm simply being careful, woman. Nothing wrong with it. To be honest, you could spare to learn a thing or two about it with the way you're always throwing caution to the wind."

Before Aela could manage a choleric retort, Farkas slipped into the room with a rag in one hand and two pale red bottles in the other, tossing them upon the bed near Aela. A deep frown crept across his lips as he pulled a chair over to the foot of the bed and took a seat, still intently watching her face.

"Will she be alright? She looks pretty banged up." His gruff voice was tinged with a sincere sense of concern as his silvery blue eyes ogled the nasty laceration Aela was tending to. She carefully dabbed the potion onto her wound.

"Yes, dear brother. The girl should pull through quite nicely."

Aela glanced over to Farkas and released a soft giggle. The brute was inspecting the girl's facial features intensely, taking in every aspect of her beauty. His eyes sparkled with adoration as the corners of his lips curled upwards, morphing into a pleasant smile.

"She's awfully pretty."

Bella's grinned wide, her muscles threatening to break her jaw if she flexed them any further.

"You are most kind, Farkas." Bella mumbled, her cheeks red and burning.

"Watch yourself, brother." Vilkas chided fiercely, glancing in turn between his brother, completely smitten by the lass, and Bella, who only grinned jovially back at Farkas.

"It's simply a thought, Vilkas. Don't get in a tizzy over it." Aela snorted as she wiped the last of the blood from Bella's face.

Vilkas let out a beleaguered groan as he ran his calloused fingers through his windblown, black hair before trudging through the door, and plumping himself into a wooden chair at the compact table in the far corner of his bedchamber.

"You're absolutely impossible, you dour wretch."

He replied with nothing more than his infamous, wicked grin. Vilkas eyed Aela intently, watching as she petted the girl's hair purely out of maternal instinct.

"You can just stay in Farkas' chambers for now. The earth won't shatter below you and swallow you whole, I promise."

He let out backhanded laugh as he shook his head.

"I could only be so lucky."

The rattled silence that fell upon them as Farkas lumbered off to bed and Aela went to fetch bandages was damn near unbearable for Bella. The only words they shared were unspoken ones of uneasiness. The occasional meetings of their sour gazes did nothing to help the matter.

With a deep, shaky intake of air, Bella cleared her throat and did her best to hold eye contact with the venomous Nord.

"You don't have to shy away as if I'll shove a dagger through your gullet." She patted her sides and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm completely unarmed. And remember the arms?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes at Bella, as if she were trying to convince him horkers had sprouted wings and began to soar the skies.

"I could easily take you on, sweetheart." He snarled, causing Bella to crinkle her nose in aversion. "Don't mistake my silence for fear. We simply have nothing to discuss."

"Right, so what are you doing here in Skyrim, Arriana!" Bella lowered her voice in mockery so it sounded akin to his.

She continued her charade as he glowered irefully.

"Oh nothing much, Vilkas! I'm just taking in the sights, looking for someone on the side!"

"Look, this doesn't require any talking." Vilkas grumbled.

"That sounds like quite the adventure, Arriana!' 'It really is, Vilkas! He's a wood elf named Aradan! Have you seen him?" She roared, alternating between herself and her impression of Vilkas.

"Very mature-"

"Wood elves? I perish the thought! Those insufferable fools live in trees and talk plants!' 'Vilkas, that's incredibly rude!"

"Right. Well, this has been interesting-"

"Fuck you, Arriana! I'm going to go away my chambers and practice hating everyone and everything because I'm Vilkas and I'm always so incredibly angry for no godsdamned reason! Look at me! Big, broody man!"

Before Bella could utter another syllable, the warrior leapt to his feet, his silver irises ablaze with something beyond rage. She took a quick intake of breath as he whooshed past her.

"You're godsdamn insufferable." He muttered not so secretively as he slammed the door behind him, the force of the aftershock shaking the contents of his room.

* * *

**4E 230**

"I take it you and she initially were not very friendly to one another?" Rayya pondered aloud, her eyes wide with childlike wonder. They sat upon the great porch, soaking in the afternoon glow.

"I'm afraid not." He replied with a sigh. "I'm not quite sure what it was about her. She was just so confident, and convinced that she knew what she was doing."

"And you felt threatened by that?"

"Anything that upset the balance of things used to threaten me." Vilkas chuckled, his voice filled with a smile. "Skyrim was a quiet place before the war and the dragon threat, and Bella. I suppose I just turtled up and hoped it wouldn't bother me."

"Well," Rayya laughed. "That's just human nature."

"Is it?"

"I would suppose so."

Vilkas displayed a rare grin.

"Well, allow me to word it that way. Bella was a complete unknown and I was both utterly repelled and irrevocably drawn to her all at the same time." A forlorn look flicked across his features, and a raspy 'ha' left his lips once more. "It's a cruel thing."

"What is?"

"What I felt towards her. What I still feel."

Rayya curiously cocked a black brow, dousing her quill in a bottle on ink and frantically painting letters upon parchment.

"Everything and nothing all at once."

"As in an emptiness?"

"More like a bittersweet thoroughgoing feeling."

"That's some deep stuff coming from you, broody man."

Eva propped herself upon an engraved wooden pillar, her famous smirk dressing her lips. Two golden eyes could be seen from under the canopy of her raven hood. It didn't conceal her identity as secretly as it once did, but she was a long way from abandoning it all together.

"I see you and Ms. Christophe are becoming acquainted. How cute."  
"Why the surprise? I'm quite the social butterfly, am I not?"

Eva laughed at that, shaking her head.

"Even after all these years-after everything, you've still got it."

"He was just telling me about how he and Bella met. I assume you knew her as well?" Rayya inquired curiously.

"Of course. I knew her quite well actually. I owe a lot to her."

"Well, if Vilkas doesn't mind, I'd love to get your input as well."

The elf glanced in turn between Vilkas and Rayya, a mischievous grin on her face and a brow quirked in amusement.


End file.
